


Broken Open

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a frustrating night for Sally, Molly and Mary, so they go out to their favorite pub and rant about everything that is driving them crazy. And there's alcohol. So much alcohol along with snarky conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Open

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my take on what would happen if Shonda Rimes wrote for Sherlock. There would be at least one episode centered on the girls going out and drinking and ranting about the boys and it would be AWESOME.
> 
> Also, my continued thanks to GS Jenner for giving me the name of the pub and her beta skills.

_Dance when you’re broken open._

_Dance when you’ve torn the bandage off._

_Dance in the middle of fighting._

_Dance in your blood._

_Dance when you’re perfectly free._

_Struck, the dancer hears a tambourine inside her, like a wave that crests into foam at the very top, Begins._

_Maybe you don’t hear that tambourine, or the tree leaves clapping time._

_Close the ears on your head, that listen mostly to lies and cynical jokes._

_There are other things to see, and hear. Music. Dance._

_A brilliant city inside your soul!_

 

**—Rumi**

 

~*~

_My face to the sky/dreaming about just high_

Sally shimmied around her flat, hips shaking, feet bouncing to the beat in her earphones as Nikka Costa’s voice swirled in her head. Her shoulders shook and her hair bounced to the beat of the music as she started to sing.

_Taking off my glasses/sun pokes through my lashes_

She fell deeper into the music, willing herself not to think about the fact that yet another bureaucrat somewhere needed Mycroft, thus summoning him away from their plans. Not that she would admit that she missed him. She’d be damned if she did that.

No. He had his job. She had hers. It was entirely hypocritical to be resentful of his job when he accepted the fact that her career also had late nights and strange hours. This was how their lives worked.

_Seek and you shall find/everything in my own sweet time_

But she still felt a little resentful.

Not that she’d admit it.

_Everybody got their something_

“Sally.”

Sally twirled, eyes shut as she sang along with Nikka Costa.

“Sally!’ She could have sworn that she was hearing Molly, but that made no sense. She and Sherlock were supposed to be celebrating her recent promotion at St. Barts. Why the hell would she be here.

_And caught up in the landslide/But I’m gonna spread my wings and fly --_

“SALLY!”

Sally yanked the earbuds out and spun around to see Molly, who was wearing a skirt with a sunny bird print and a matching pink top. Her hair was done up in a side ponytail, which made the overall effect sweet. However her mood didn’t match her outfit.

“Molly,” Sally said. “Why aren’t you celebrating your promotion?”

Molly sniffed, eyes red. It was clear that she had been crying a bit. “Because Sherlock’s a twat,” she said.

Sally hugged Molly as her friend began her rant.

“We weren’t even out the door when he was sitting there going, ‘Just be warned, you will have to interact with people more now if you are morgue director and you know how much fun it is to deal with those idiots, and there will be more paperwork and politics, which I know you enjoy about as much as I enjoy visits from Anderson,’ and he just kept going on and on about how I’d have to deal with people and politics and --” Molly pulled back and paced. “It’s like he doesn’t believe I can do this or that I think I’m ready now. ‘I just want you to be prepared,’” Her voice dropped in an attempt to imitate him. “I wasn’t ready before and now I am --”

Sally nodded. “You know what?” she said, interrupting her friend, shoving her mobile and earbuds into her pocket. “We need to go out. We’ll go to the usual pub, get some drinks and not think about Holmes men being prats. I mean you look adorable --”

“Thank you,” Molly smiled. “The skirt has pockets.”

Sally gasped. “I want one now,” she said, studying the skirt to find the pockets. “But not in the bird print.”

“I’ll email you the link,” Molly replied. “Where’s Mycroft?”

“Some crisis in government,” Sally rolled her eyes.

“Again? This is the third time this week he’s stood you up.”

“Yup,” Sally said. “He apologized and everything, so whatever. It’s over. Let’s go out,” she steamrolled over Molly’s attempt to ask a question, “I’m itching for a drink and sitting at home is getting depressing. I’ve done nothing but go to work and come home and I need to get the hell out of here.”

Molly smiled, “Brilliant plan,” she said. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

They ended up at the usual pub -- there’s always a pub or cafe that never deals with crime, no matter how bad a rash of robberies occur. Ambulances come a little quicker to there if someone is ill. The reason for that is that it’s always populated by public safety officials.

Hog in Armor was one of those pubs. If Molly and Sally went out, they often went to this pub because it was quiet, clean and Eddie knew how to pour a good pint and had the rum Sally liked to drink.

Not to mention, most of Scotland Yard thought it was hilarious to go to a pub where the sign was a trumped-up pig dressed in some fancy armor holding a bardiche. It was practically tradition to go there. Lestrade took her there after her first day in his division and Molly and Sally sometimes found themselves there when drinking at home didn’t have any appeal.

Sally waved a greeting to Eddie, who was manning the bar that night along with his cousin Yasmin. The bar was relatively quiet -- just a few officers sitting at the bar, who Sally waved hello to, sipping their pints as the woes of the day melted away and into their drinks.

Sliding into a banquette booth in the back, Yasmin quickly approached with a couple of pints and dropped them off at the table. “Got a tab started for you,” she said.

“Thanks,” Sally said. The three exchanged pleasantries about the day, work, and the usual small talk before Yasmin headed back to the bar to help Eddie.

They both took a big sip, before Molly began. “I know he didn’t mean to upset me,” she said.

Sally shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “He did. That’s like saying that I didn’t mean to kill someone when I stabbed them in the chest.”

“He did apologize,” she said. “But by then it was too late and I was just too angry with him. So I had to get away from him and dinner tonight, but he’s been such a prat lately. Cases are slow, so he’s just stalking about the flat, bored out of his mind and grumpy --”

“It’s not right that he takes it out on you,” Sally said.

Molly shook her head, “He doesn’t,” she corrected her friend. “He just sulks, which isn’t fun, but we all have our days. But this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back,” she continued. “I read him the riot act, asked him if he was rooting for my failure at this and when he apologized, I said I forgave him, but that dinner was off and I needed to get away from him to cool down.”

Sally sipped her ale. “So what did he say?”

“He looked surprised,” Molly answered, grinning into her drink. “I think I scared him.”

Sally chuckled. “Good.”

Molly’s mobile emitted a soft chirp and she pulled it out of her pocket and read it over. “Oh dear,” she said, a grin forming on her face.

“What? Sherlock promising you that he’ll never be a prat again?”

“He wouldn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep,” Molly said. “Apparently everyone we know is hating their relationships. Mary just asked if she could meet with me because,” she began reading the text, “‘If I do not leave this house, I am going to burn everything down, get in a car and drive to Tijuana.”

Inwardly, Sally winced. The relationship between her and Mary was still cool at best and Sally spend most of her time begging out of outings with Mary and Molly. Maybe it was the fact that she never felt like John had warmed to her, but Sally felt like life was too short for more awkward moments, so she preferred to keep her own company instead of worrying about saying something potentially unflattering about Sherlock and John to the woman who was more fond of them than Mrs. Hudson.

“She does know you can’t drive to Mexico, yeah?” Sally asked.

Molly giggled, before her fingers started flying over the keyboard. “I’m inviting her over,” she said.

Sally gave her a look.

“Oh knock it off,” Molly said, after hitting send. “I swear, you are so conflict avoidant at times. It’s hilarious. You’ll tell Sherlock to piss up a rope, but you’re scared of a tiny blond woman --

“And my mother,” Sally interrupted.

“And her too,” Molly continued. “Mary will be fine,” she said, before taking another long sip. “Just relax. She’s a dear and she’s going through a rough patch, so I’m sure she’d appreciate someone to talk to.”

Twenty minutes later, as Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll,” started to blare, Mary wandered into the pub, ordered a drink and then made her way over to Sally and Mary. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair was uncombed. The periwinkle button-up shirt she had was a bit wrinkled and her entire appearance reminded Sally of when she’d leave for work with only ten minutes to ready herself.

“Hullo,” Molly said.

Mary began laughing. “I must look like a fright,” she said, before taking a sip of her drink.

“No,” Molly lied, “You look fine.”

Yasmin came around with a glass of rum for Sally and another ale for Molly. Somewhere along the time, Sally had switched to rum, but she couldn’t recall when.

“Another vodka tonic please,” Mary asked, before Yasmin wandered off.

Mary glanced over at Sally and Molly. Sally could feel Mary’s gaze rake over her. She knew Mary could sense her unease and an awkward silence settled over the table.

“Look,” Mary sighed before taking a long sip of her drink. “Let’s dispose of the usual neurotic getting to know you bollocks. I don’t hate you, John doesn’t hate you. He may not be fond of you, but I’m neutral when it comes to you.

“I came here tonight because if I have to stay at home and have my baby chew on my nipples as John attempts to help, but complains about how to make dinner, I was going to say something I was going to regret,” she finished her drink. “So instead, I thought I’d take it out on you guys, because I know you’re as close to mates as I’ll ever get and you’ll forgive me and tell me John’s a sodding idiot because he can’t cook and that my nipples don’t look like a used dog toy and I’m more than a cow dispensing milk to an ungrateful infant. And. You. Will. Get. Me. Another. Drink.”

Somewhere during Mary’s speech Yasmin had returned with another drink. She had paused during Mary’s rant, eyes widened in fear and concern. Mary snatched the drink from the tray and put her empty glass on the tray.

Sally eyed up Yasmin. “Bring the bottle,” she said. “And I could use another rum.”

During the next thirty minutes, Sally listened as Mary ranted about how her daughter was going through a growth spurt, and as a result, was attached to her breast like a teenage boy getting to second base for the first time in his life.  “She takes after her father,” Mary observed wryly.

As a result, she had gotten little sleep during the night rising to let the baby feed every couple of hours, while John slept peacefully.

“Why not force John up to to feed her?” Sally asked.

“Because apparently I need to up my production to keep her happy, so I need to feed her because the only way my body knows it needs more milk --”

“Is to let her gnaw on you,” Molly finished.

Mary nodded, then continued. After the sleepless night, there was going to work, then coming home, where the baby showed she was still hungry and continued to gnaw on her mother. “By this time we’re starving and I haven’t been able to leave the couch, so I asked John if he could handle dinner,” she said. “And he agreed.”

“Which is better than some blokes --” Sally began.

Mary snorted. “Yeah, well, all the sudden I hear this crashing and banging in the kitchen as he’s opening cabinets and going, ‘HOW THE HELL DO YOU ORGANIZE THIS KITCHEN? WHERE ARE THE FRYING PANS? WHY ARE THE COUNTERS FILLED WITH CRAP?’ and he’s going on and on, which makes me wonder if he’s even helping out.”

“What. A. Twat,” Sally flatly said.

“Thank you,” Mary replied. “Well, by then, I had it. I was tired, I had this baby on my breast, who keeps saying she’s hungry and she’s chewing on me like mad. I had three hours of sleep the night before and now my husband is banging around the kitchen like it’s a huge trial to make some eggs and toast.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” she continued, taking a big sip of her drink, then pouring a bit more vodka in the glass. “When she was done, I walked into the kitchen, handed her to John and told him off. Told him that if it was such a headache to make up dinner, he could fend for himself while I went out. Told him where the bottles were and that he could take care of her for the night.

“‘Where are you going?’ he asked. I just told him ‘Out. Before I say something I will regret,’ then I texted Molly,” she stared at her glass. “And I’m enjoying a liquid dinner,” she let out a belch. “Sadly, I now realize I may have to pump and dump some of this milk because well, can’t have a drunk baby.”

Sally shrugged. “She’d sleep pretty good then.”

Mary began giggling. “As tempting as that is,” she said, “No,” her gaze swung over to Molly. “So what’s with you? Why aren’t you with Sherlock celebrating your promotion?”

“Because he’s a twat,” Molly said, before launching into the story about Sherlock and his undermining of her confidence by asking her questions that she didn’t need to hear, which was on top of the weeks of glowering that he had been doing around the flat.

“I don’t know now,” Molly said. “Maybe he’s seeing something that I don’t see -- that maybe I might screw up. I mean, it’s a leadership position and you know how I am with people. I’m pants with live people. Maybe they won’t respect me --”

“No,” Sally grabbed Molly’s hands, “Look, I know you love him, I know you think he’s brilliant and all that, but he is also full of shit. You have been working in this field longer than he has and you’re brilliant at it. You know how to deal with people better than he does. You’ve been at St. Bart’s for so long and those people respect you and your work. I’m not saying he’s wrong --”

“Yes you are --” Mary slurred, before pouring the dregs of Molly’s martini -- when that showed up, no one could recall -- into her vodka glass and sipping it.

“OK,” Sally shrugged. “I am. I’m saying he’s wrong. You have been working your whole life toward this and you have it. You can do this. He is not the only brilliant one in that marriage. You’re fuckin’ amazing and don’t you ever forget it.”

Molly nodded. “You’re right,” she said, breathing deeply. “I know I can do this. I got this.”

“Fuck yeah,” Mary said. “You’d be brilliant. After all, any person who can get him to sincerely apologize is probably as good of a leader as Churchill.”

“Oh it gets better,” Molly continued. “Do you know what he tried to do before I left?”

“Oh no,” Sally began.

“Oh yes,” Molly said.

“What?” Mary asked as she glanced between the two women.

“Did he do the naked thing again? To try and distract you?” Sally giggled.

Molly nodded. “‘Well Molly,’” she started imitating his voice,”’Judging by the flushed tone of your skin, you must be interested in coitus.’”

Mary burst out laughing with a loud, warm cackle. “No,” she said.

“He does this all the time,” Sally said. “I’m surprised that Molly hasn’t bought that fifty-five gallon drum of lube I saw online.”

Molly reddened. “It’s annoying,” she said. “I know plenty of people who would think I’m complaining about nothing, but he does this all the time. I ask him to do dishes, he initiates sex to distract me. He gets bored, next thing I know he’s got his willie out,” her voice lowered, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s good and all that, but I have to go to work. Orgasms don’t do the dishes. Things need to get done and I’m not talking about my minge.”

“Tell her my favorite line,” Sally cackled.

Molly began laughing, “One day, it was cold and I came home and he was obviously bored because the next thing I hear is his zip being undone and him saying, ‘You must be aroused. Your nipples are looking quite pert,’” she paused as Mary began laughing even harder. “It was freezing outside! They were hard enough to cut glass because I was cold, not horny!”

Mary snorted into her glass, “Well, at least you’re getting some,” she said. “It’s been six months and I’m starting to lose it.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. “No wonder John is also tense,” she said.

“We’ve got a baby,” Mary pointed out. “And we’re exhausted. I mean, there’s not even time for a half-hearted fumble. I don’t know how people can have a baby and then another one less than a year later. I mean, who has the energy for that?”

Mary poured another vodka into her glass and took a sip. “I just don’t want to feel like another chore,” she said. “I mean, I know it’ll get better and I know he feels the same way, but dammit, sometimes I want to feel worshipped.”

The two women nodded sympathetically. Mary swung her gaze over to Sally. “So what about you?” she asked. “If you tell me your life is perfect with someone who I’m not sure is even human, I’m going to hit you with this bottle and blame you for being better than us.”

Molly mock-laughed into her drink, “Oh it’s not,” she said. “Guess who stood her up again for the third time this week?”

Sally glared at Molly, “It’s not a big deal,” she said. “We didn’t even have plans for him to cancel.”

“It is a big deal,” Molly replied. “I can tell you’re annoyed at him.”

“Yeah, but it’s not him, it’s his job,” Sally said.

“Which is him,” Molly said.

“I can’t talk,” Sally snapped. “I mean, my job is mental also. And when he’s around, he’s --” she blushed, “Rather focused on me.”

“But when was the last time he was around?” Molly probed.

Sally mumbled into her drink.

“What?” Mary asked.

Sally mumbled.

“What?” Molly asked, poking Sally in the side.

“Fuck you,” Sally snapped. “It’s been a month. We had that rash of smuggling for the past month and I’ve been mentoring the new recruits who apparently think that The Heat and Hot Fuzz are documentaries so I’ve got to smack some sense into their heads and remind them that no, we are not issued rocket launchers as part of everyday patrol.”

Sally finished her drink, the irritation spilling over like a dam, “And Mycroft’s been doing classified business, which is what he always does and apparently travelling to mysterious places doing mysterious things that I don’t want to think about because it’s none of my business and he returned to London this week, but apparently all the bureaucrats and MPs want a piece of him, so he’s been out with them at their boring club dinners eating boring club food and he is not with me, which is a load of bollocks.”

Mary grinned, “Someone obviously needs to get laid,” she said.

“Although with dating Big Brother, you’d think that they would’ve done phone sex by now,” Molly continued.

“Oh come on,” Sally snapped. “We all know phone sex isn’t the same thing as having the person in the room with you, let’s not act like that it’s the end-all-be-all.”

“So you were doing phone sex,” Mary said.

Sally rolled her eyes, “Of course we were,” she said. “If you two say you haven’t done it, I’m going to call you lying liars who lie.”

A silence fell over the table, then Mary and Molly burst out into a fit of giggles. “So was it even good?” Molly asked, after the giggles died down.

“It was --” Sally searched for the right word, “adequate.”

“Did he make you stand in front of a CCTV camera?” Molly continued.

“I swear, if you weren’t my best friend, I’d throw my drink in your face.”

A maniacal grin bloomed on Molly’s face. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Maybe I know of a camera positioned near my house,” Sally replied, shrugging. “And maybe sometimes I like to wander around topless because it’s warm. I’m not saying anything beyond that.”

Mary began laughing. “I do understand,” she said, noticing Sally’s sulk. “It’s not quite the same as having the person there to touch you and spend time together. I completely understand that.”

“And knowing that he’s back in town, but unable to see you after the past month,” Molly added, “That’s got to make the frustration worse. Sissy --” she stuttered, “Sissy --”

“Sisyphean,” Mary finished.

“That,” Molly hiccuped.

“But I think you mean Tantalus.”

“Oh sod off,” Molly giggled into her drink.

Sally nodded, sipping her drink. Her eyes lit to the door, where she saw Anthea enter -- looking stunning in a black sheath, chestnut hair draped across her shoulders and a pleasant smile on her face. It was a testament to Anthea’s charisma that all eyes turned towards her as she sauntered up to the bar and ordered a drink, favoring Eddie with one of her dazzling smiles.

“Oh shit,”  Sally groaned.

Mary followed Sally’s eyes. “Well she’s a nice piece,” she commented. “And she’s making her way over here.”

Sally plastered a smile on her face, “She’s Mycroft’s assistant. Apparently she’s my date tonight.”

Anthea slid into the booth, her bum wiggling against Sally’s. “Sergeant Donovan,” she said.

Sally began laughing, “Mycroft sent you? Are you his proxy tonight?”

Anthea nodded as she continued to pound out a text on her Blackberry. “Yasmin will be bringing me my gin and tonic” she said.

“Ladies, Anthea,” Sally motioned. “Anthea’s basically Mycroft’s Girl Friday.”

Mary and Molly waved hullo with their drinks.

“So did the big boss ask you to keep an eye on me?” Sally whispered into Anthea’s ear.

Anthea finished her text and pocked the Blackberry. “He apologizes for being whisked away to a meeting,” she began. “But work --”

Sally shrugged, then drank her rum. “It’s who he is,” she said.

“You’re upset,” Anthea said.

“Maybe,” Sally took another swig and leaned against Molly. “But what do you expect sometimes? ‘Sides, don’t you get upset if he’s spoiling your night by making you come and babysit my pissed arse?”

“How did you know I had other plans?”

Sally smiled, “You’re wearing those black Louboutin lacy looking pumps,” she said. “Those are a bit flashy if you were meeting an MP, yeah?”

Mary and Molly sniggered into their drinks.

Anthea finished her drink, then motioned to Eddie -- who was staring at her with rapt attention -- for another, “Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps I may have wanted to get away from that lovely date with a lovely Christina Hendricks look-a-like because being in love would complicate my life too much, as witnessed by the fact that I didn’t have to babysit my superior’s drunken paramours because he didn’t have any,” the entire tone of her voice was blandly pleasant -- as if she was commenting on the weather.

Mary’s eyes widened and she began laughing. Molly began giggling. Sally felt her face turn red as she mumbled, “sorry.”

“Oh it’s not your fault,” Anthea continued sweetly, “I know you don’t request these things. He’s rather protective regarding you and frankly, your tone was peevish enough with him that he thought I should --”

“Spy,” Mary began laughing.

“Yes,” Anthea accepted the drink, then gave Yasmin a rather posh-looking credit card when she came with Anthea’s gin and tonic. So posh that there weren’t numbers embossed on it. Yasmin’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline, but Anthea continued as if she hadn’t noticed.

“So I suppose that if he was watching over us, I’m going to say that drinks are on him tonight.”

The women began giggling, then after the giggles died down, Mary leaned forward with an impish smile.

“Christina Hendricks, you say?”

Anthea’s grin was lupine. “Oh yes. Magnificent curves.”

It wasn’t that Sally disliked Anthea, she mused as the ladies began chattering about other things. Honestly, she didn’t know enough about Anthea to make a judgment -- they had only met a few times, in which Anthea was unfailingly civil. She knew Anthea was sharp and loyal to Mycroft and while some women would have been suspicious of their loves working with such a stunning woman, Sally never worried. Maybe it was that Anthea was so blank to her -- there wasn’t a hint of personality with her. Just collected and calm efficiency as she worked with Mycroft. She had the feeling they both viewed each other as cogs in a machine that Sally would never truly understand -- not that she wanted to.

Hell, Sally didn’t know that Anthea had a lady friend until tonight. That’s how little she knew of Anthea. Part of her suspected Anthea was a cyborg Mycroft had imported from the future.

“I’m hooooked on a feeling!” Molly sang. “I’m high on believing that you’re in love with me.” She swayed in the booth, shoulders bopping to the beat of the music and head bobbling so her hair flew around.

“How many drinks has she had?” Anthea asked, her lips brushing along Sally’s ear. Sally blinked. _There is no way in hell she is flirting with me,_ Sally thought. _But if I can rattle Mycroft, let’s have some fun._

“Oooga chaka, ooga chaka,” Mary sang along, before pouring another shot of vodka into her mouth. “I-ah-aaaaahhh-mmmmm hoooked on a feeling,” her hands were fisted and she was shaking her arms back and forth.

“Not as many as Mary,” Sally leaned into Anthea. “Sorry you had to get all prettied up for us.”

Anthea turned her face to study Sally. There was something in her expression that said, _I know the game you’re playing and Mycroft knows the game you’re playing, but what the hell. Let’s have some fun._

Anthea finished her gin and tonic, right before Yasmin flew by with another round of drinks. “It’s fine,” she said, toying with the lime.  Sally couldn’t tell if Anthea was telling the truth, or if it was a stock phrase she had memorized to keep people on an even keel.

“You do look quite nice though. Does the dress have pockets?”

Anthea shook her head.

“Pity,” Sally mused. “Also what instructions did Mycroft give you?”

“Simply to pass on his regrets -- which he did emphasize -- and that I was to ensure your comfort,” she smiled at Sally, red lips curving up ever-so-slightly.

“Oh you are good,” Sally said. “Everything for my comfort?”

Anthea moved closer, her lips brushing Sally’s ear as she spoke, “Whatever you desired.”

Sally thought about it. “Shawarma would be nice,” she mused. “Or a kebab. I could murder a kebab right now.”

Anthea pulled back and studied her before a low and throaty chuckle emitted from her. For a moment, Sally wondered how many government secrets she had pried out of people simply by focusing the full wattage of her attention on someone.

“I didn’t think people like you fell in love,” Sally said, “Also, you smell nice.”

“You can’t afford this perfume,” Anthea replied. “And it wasn’t love.”

Sally’s eyes widened in surprise. “Then why dinner?”

“What makes you think we were having dinner?”

Molly stopped singing and nudged Mary, “What?” they both said.

Anthea smiled angelically and sipped her drink.  

“I think we missed something,” Mary said to Molly.

Suddenly Sally felt tired. All she wanted was to go home and go to bed, but it didn’t seem like now was the right time. She nudged Molly, “Let’s go look at the jukebox,” she said, studying the pub. “No one else is here, so maybe we can play something we’d like to listen to for a bit.”

Molly nodded, then suddenly slid under the table.

“You are so drunk,” Sally yelped, as she poked Anthea to let her out of the booth.

“Not drunk” Molly said as she crawled out from under the table. “Efficient.”

The two women staggered over to the jukebox.  Sally blinked, trying to get the words to come into focus, until she found her head resting against the glass as she read.

“You all right?” Molly asked.

“Just tired,” Sally said. “And annoyed.”

Molly nodded as she punched numbers into the jukebox. Montell Jordan’s This is How We Do It started. “You know what you need?” she said.

“Oh no,” Sally said, as Molly grabbed her hand.

“Dance it out,” Molly said, leading her to a clear spot around the bar. “Stop thinking and just move.”

Sober, Molly wasn’t a great dancer. She was too self-conscious and often could be seen doing tiny movements and little dance steps to the beat. But drunk? Drunk Molly was a fantastic dancer, Sally believed. Drunk Molly didn’t give a shit and her hips would shake and shimmy to the beat, occasionally offering a borderline lewd gyration. She’d shake her hair around and move her hands wildly as she sang along with the songs.

And Drunk Molly knew how to get Sad Sack Sally to dance. Soon they were bumping hips, singing along to the song and laughing wildly as memories of a late night marathon of Ali G took over.

“I’m going to tell him,” Sally said. “I’m going to tell him I miss him and I don’t like being stood up after a month of not seeing each other in person.”

“Great,” Molly panted. “Don’t care right now. Just dance.”

The two women started to do the Kid ‘n Play to Stereo MC’s Connected when they heard Sherlock’s baritone cut though the music.

“Molly,” he called.

“Busy,” Molly replied as she grabbed Sally’s hands and they touched feet together and hopped around in a circle. “I’m with people who think I’m the brilliant one.”

“I never said you weren’t,” he replied.

Molly let go of Sally’s hands and hopped backwards to try and steady herself. She turned to face him. Sally stopped dancing and stood there, trying to catch her breath as she studied the two of them.

Frankly, Sally never would understand what Molly saw in Sherlock, but that wasn’t her cross to bear. But for a second, she could see that Sherlock held Molly in as high of esteem that she deserved. There was something unspoken in their expressions -- his was a mix of contriteness and humor and hers was sardonic but also forgiving.

“Ah, go on,” Sally nudged Molly. “If you don’t go to him, he’s probably going to throw a fit and take his clothes off like a toddler. Not to mention, you two are two seconds away from eyefucking each other into oblivion.”

Molly burst out laughing, before glancing at the booth where Mary and Anthea were watching the scene with interest.  

“Just don’t forget,” Sally whispered into Molly’s ear. “You’re fuckin’ brilliant. He’s not the only amazing one in your relationship. And don’t forget to remind him of it.”

Molly nodded. “I’m amazing,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “And I can do this.”

“Yup,” Sally replied. “And if he thinks otherwise, you know you can smother him in his sleep with your pillow right?”

“I can read your lips you know,” Sherlock said.

“I don’t care,” Sally sing-songed back. “I’m just reminding her that she’s the brilliant one, since apparently you’re pants at that.”

His mouth turned down in a moue of annoyance. Sally grinned.

Molly went over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I think it’s time to call it a night,” she said. “I have a feeling I’m going to pay for this drinking binge in the morning.”

“Awww,” Mary protested. “I suppose I should head back. I can feel my milk coming down and if I don’t get home soon, it’s going to be a wet t-shirt contest in the most unappealing way.”

“We’ll escort you home,” Molly said. She glanced over at Sally. “You want to split a cab?”

“I can give her a lift home,” Anthea said. There was something in her tone that suggested that Sally could not reject the idea, even if she wanted.

They said their goodbyes at the front of the pub, after Sally thanked Eddie and Yamin for humoring them and Anthea paid the bill for the evening. Sherlock, Molly and Mary jammed themselves into a cab and Sally watched them leave.

“You going to Islington?” she asked Anthea.

“I will go wherever you desire,” Anthea said.

“Good. I could murder a kebab,” Sally replied.

They ended up at a kebab shop around the corner from Hog in Armor, which was empty, even though in the past, Sally had found the shop too crowded for her tastes. Well, it was empty, save for the clerk and one person, sitting at a table, watching the entrance.

Sally burst out laughing as she entered the shop. “Meeting go well then?”

Mycroft picked at his plate. “Excessively long and predictable,” he sighed as he sipped his tea out of a styrofoam cup. “Really, they act like such children at times.”

Sally slid into the seat across from him, pleased to see a kebab plate in front of her along with a cup of tea. She glanced over at Anthea. “Did you tell him?” she asked.

Anthea did not answer, since she had pulled out her Blackberry and was typing on it furiously. For a moment, a smile flashed across her face, but it quickly vanished under a veneer of professionalism. Sally wondered if the Christina Hendricks lookalike was still free for a late night tete-a-tete.

“That will be all Anthea,” Mycroft said. “I hope that text was good news?”

“Indeed sir,” she said. “Good evening Sergeant Donovan.”

Sally waved at Anthea, “Night. Thanks for --” she wasn’t quite sure what the evening was. “Right. Yeah. Thanks.”

She could hear Anthea chuckle and the _click, click, click_ , of excessively expensive heels on tile.

Drunken hunger took over as Sally tore into the kebab, pulling chunks off and wrapping them in the pita bread before stuffing it into her mouth.

“You did not eat dinner?” She glanced up to see Mycroft’s amused expression.

Sally shook her head, then swallowed. She took a sip of the tea that was also with her food. “Too angry before,” she admitted.

“I do apologize for that,” he said.

“I know,” she took a bite of salad. “Today -- this week -- was frustrating,” her voice faltered. “Like the world was conspiring against us or something.”

“That’s a bit egocentric don’t you think?” he asked.

“It’s completely egocentric,” Sally conceded, before taking another bite of food. “But I missed you and having you in town, but not available --”

“Was worse,” he agreed. “Which is why I have wrestled control back from the universe. I am going out of town for three days. Starting tonight.”

Inwardly Sally sighed. “I see,” she said, before stuffing her mouth with more kebab to avoid saying what was really in her head, which was _I swear if you continue to leave me alone again I’m going to go out and have an affair with that nice man behind the counter who is grilling the lovely kebab. He might not be as smart as you or as interesting, but at least he’s home at night. Or I might sleep with Anthea. But that would get too odd for me because I suspect you might be fine with it and she’d consider it part of her job. And having sex with someone while they’re typing on their Blackberry is just disconcerting._

“And you’re coming with me,” Mycroft continued as if he couldn’t read Sally’s thoughts. “Don’t even bother feigning protest, because I’ve already contacted Lestrade and said you deserve a holiday after dealing with those recruits and the smuggling ring and he agreed. I’ve taken the liberty of packing a bag for you and we are leaving for the country. Sadly, we may have to do work, but I will try to keep mine to the barest minimum if you agree to do the same. If anything, I hope the English countryside proves to be diverting enough if I must babysit some infantile Lord or Lady over the phone.”

She nodded, still comprehending the words he said. “So we get to be together,” she started.

“Yes.”

“Naked time together? Doing unspeakable things to each other time together?”

“If you would like.”

“Will you cook and feed me?”

“Yes.”

“Can I go skinny-dipping?”

“I would not object to that.”

“Will you go skinny-dipping?”

“I may amenable to that.”

“I would very much like that,” Sally grinned.

~*~

_How badly hungover are you? -- MH_

_Don’t even ask. Typing this out is making my head hurt -- MW_

_Got a kebab, which helped, along with sleeping in. Am now officially out of town for a few days. -- SD_

_;P -- MH_

_8===D~~~(o)(o) -- MW_

_I deserve this and you know it.  And Mary, if you have the energy to type that out, you have the energy for a quickie. You two feeling better, aside from the hangover? -- SD_

_We’ll work it out. Most of it was just needing to vent. Thanks for that. -- MW_

_Anytime. And I’m fine. Just needed to get out for a bit. You think that Anthea got to go back to her date? -- MH_

_Yes I did. And she was magnificent -- A_

_Did anyone CC Anthea on this? -- SD_

_No -- MH_

_Not me -- MW_

_Bloody hell. We’re going to need a coded channel now.  -- SD_


End file.
